Totally Boggled
by coconutjelly596
Summary: In the HBP movie, Ron claims not to know how he broke up with Lavender, saying he was "totally boggled," but perhaps he really knows what upset her. A look in Ron's unconscious mind at what he didn't want Hermione to know. Heavy M for lemon. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or his world. I just play with them sometimes, but I always put them back where I found them. I am also sadly not in possession of Rupert Grint or Emma Watson, on whose interpretations of the characters this story is based.

**A/N:** This is one of my reactions to the **HBP movie**. The scene after Ron says Hermione's name whilst unconscious, and he's wondering at breakfast how he broke up with Lavender. Told from a third-person omniscient focus on Ron, this is my interpretation of what happened in his head to make him say her name aloud.

**WARNING:** Moderately explicit adult situations. The author does not condone unprotected sex outside of a monogamous, committed relationship unless you are prepared to deal with the consequences of disease and babies.

~**#**~

"I don't believe it was a terribly…long conversation," Hermione replied tactfully, though Ron suspected she was trying to avoid saying something more specific. A hollow feeling settled low in his stomach as a suspicion began to grow about what might have been said.

"But…" he began, trying desperately to write off anything that he may told Lavender without remembering. "I was totally boggled, wasn't I?" Gulp. "I can't be responsible for what I said."

~**#**~

Out on the grounds of Hogwarts stood a large, live oak tree, which Ron walked past every time he was going to Herbology or Care of Magical Creatures.

Today, he lay comfortably along one of its lower branches, talking with Hermione. She sat beneath him on the ground, brow furrowed in concentration over whatever piece of homework she was slaving away on. The branch upon which he sat was so near the ground that she was able to rest her back on it. Ron's hand reached down lazily to touch her hair, and grinned at the coarse texture of the dirty blonde hair dangling over her shoulder. He didn't look down at her, but he knew that her quill hand had slowed to a stop and her eyes were closed in contentment.

Hermione's head turned, placing her soft cheek in his hand. Ron turned to look down at her, gazing into her soft brown eyes, like the color of fresh soil. He never got tired of looking at this lovely thing, and even when they weren't speaking to one another, he would look at her as often as possible, just to take in her beauty. He didn't know when it had happened, at what moment he had fallen in love with Hermione, or even when he'd realized it. It was a feeling that had grown so organically he had never known it was there until the day Hermione had come to him and confessed her feelings.

~#~

"Ron." Hermione had looked seething mad that spring afternoon in the common room, absolutely ready to curse someone until her wand hand was tired. Just looking at the red flame across her cheeks tightened embarrassing things in Ron's chest.

"Yes?" he replied, trying his best to look scared and hoping that no one could see the awe he felt in just watching her lips move as she spoke.

"Come with me please," she asked, in a clipped tone to rival McGonagall's most annoyed moments. "I need to speak with you about a private matter."

"Er, but Hermione, we're in the middle of a game." He gestured hopelessly at the chessboard upon which his knight was pummeling Harry's rook into bits of stone. He was hopeless, not because he was concerned for his victory—his pieces knew Harry's bad playing well enough to win without him there—but because he knew that whatever Hermione asked of him, he would do, and he wasn't keen to show her too much open adoration without knowing how she felt for him.

And he _certainly_ wasn't going to tell her first, because everyone knew that you never tell a girl that you like her, because it makes you look like an idiot.

"Now, please, Ronald," she snapped at him.

Ron wasn't sure what he'd done to upset her so much, but it seemed that it was about to earn him a thorough verbal lashing. He ran over the past few days in his head, wondering if he'd made a rude comment about her bookish habits, or had referred to being worked like a house elf, but he didn't think so. He supposed this time, he should be paying attention to what she was saying, because the last time she'd gotten overly worked up at him, he'd been watching her lips move so closely that he hadn't heard a word she'd said, only setting her off again, which he'd been fine with.

Ron glanced over at Harry, who shrugged in an _I have no idea_ sort of way. Ron shrugged carelessly back, and unfolded himself from the cushy armchair. Fully upright, he stood more than a head over the small girl, and could probably have hidden her from view, if he felt so inclined. But why would he want to hide such a beautiful creature from anyone, especially himself? He looked swiftly around the common room, quickly taking stock of all the leering male eyes he _would _want to hide her from, and quickly caught himself before he could look too angry. Though for the benefit of those watching curiously as Hermione's rage bubbled under her skin, that might not be a bad idea.

So, with an internal grimace and an outward sarcastic motion of his arm, he said clearly, "Lead the way."

It was difficult for Ron to keep up his constant act off-handed tolerance of Hermione, when all he really wanted to do was run with her to the nearest broom cupboard, but sometimes he took on the role with wholly too much enthusiasm, and at moments when he wanted her the most, he usually ended up hurting her in his efforts not to show it. Like the Yule Ball. He'd been kicking himself for weeks after that debacle, especially when she had inadvertently mentioned that she would have gone with him, if he'd only had the yarbles to ask in the first place.

In trepidation of some kind of repetition of that event, Ron led Hermione out of the portrait hole, and even offered her an apologetic hand as she clambered through after him. He didn't know what he was apologizing for, but making her look like the villain in the common room just now seemed like a good place to start. Hermione brushed him off with a disgusted look, and he began to feel that he might really be in trouble.

He didn't have to wait long to find out what she wanted, because Hermione picked the first empty classroom down the Gryffindor corridor and stormed inside. Ron followed her, pausing at the door. He took one deep breath, preparing himself to play the hot-tempered jackass once again. It was a self-preservation thing that he never could get used to, but as long as it kept his lovely Hermione—no, not his, not his—from knowing how desperately he yearned for her, it was the best he could manage.

She stood across the classroom, her back facing him, and before he could let himself be too distracted by the curve of her backside, she deflated. Her proud shoulders slumped, her head fell forward, and all the sense of anger was gone from her body.

Unsure if that were actually the case, however, Ron took a hesitant step forward, reaching out a hand, but then dropping it before it got anywhere near her.

"Hermione?"

Hearing her name, Hermione turned on the spot, and stared at him with tortured eyes. He had never seen her look like this, and he didn't like the pain he could see radiating from her. He said her name again, this time with far more concern in his voice, and this time she replied.

"I'm such a fool," she whispered.

"What are you talking about, Hermione?" he asked, worry beginning to blossom in his chest. What had happened to the usually spirited girl to make her sound so utterly hopeless?

"Such a fool," she said again. The tone in her voice sounded much like the tone his thoughts often took on while thinking about her and any future they might have together.

Not for the first time, Ron wondered what the school's reaction would be if the famously argumentative pair became, well, a pair. They would all probably fall over in shock, or wait for his twin brothers to jump out of somewhere with Christmas crackers and fireworks, shouting, "April Fools!"

Ron pulled himself back to the current crisis, and found that he had moved several steps closer to her without thinking about it. "Hermione, what are you on about? I've never met a lesser fool, except maybe Dumbledore."

She laughed, but it was empty of any emotion. "I've got to tell you something, Ronald," she said bravely, staring him down. "Don't let me leave until I've said it."

"How will I know when you've said it?" He was trying to make her laugh, but her current mood didn't seem to have room for another laugh.

"You'd know."

A heavy silence filled the room. Ron didn't know how to break it, but as it seemed they might be here for a while, he pulled two chairs away from the collection of desks and set them across from one another. "Have a seat."

She collapsed into a chair, and Ron saw that her hands were shaking.

"Hermione." He reached for her hands, then thought better of his ability to touch her without making an idiot of himself, and dropped them. He'd have liked to have thought he saw a disappointed frown cross her lips, but he didn't think about it long enough to let it hurt. "Tell me what I've done. You're driving me crazy."

And she was, but probably not in the way he'd intentionally made it sound. The crease in her brow made him want to touch it, to smooth it out, and her frown begged to be kissed. She wrung her hands in her lap, drawing his attention to the motion and making him want to hold her hands until she felt well enough to talk to him. It was a tight rope walk of half-truths and careful self-control to be around Hermione anymore.

"It's nothing you've done," she replied, looking down at her hands. "I told you, I need to tell you something. Just give me a moment to get up the nerve."

"What's the category?" he offered with a smile. "Maybe that'll make it easier, if I know the general subject of the conversation. Person, place, or thing?"

She smiled. "Person."

"Someone I know?"

"Yes."

"Male or female?"

"Male."

Ron began to suspect the subject of the conversation, but wasn't sure he really wanted to know the specifics. Hermione and Harry were together, and they wanted his blessing. If that was how it needed to be, he would do it to make her happy.

"Harry." The word sounded empty, even to his ears, and he knew he needed to make more effort in being outwardly happy for them, even if he was inwardly shredding his heart to pieces.

"No."

Interesting. If it wasn't Harry, why would she need to tell him privately? Why not tell he and Harry together? "Someone in our year?"

"Yes."

"Gryffindor, surely." He didn't make it a question, because it was too ludicrous for her to want anyone but a Gryffindor.

"Of course." She smiled a bit there. She must be aware of his prejudice toward his own house. It wasn't as though everyone wasn't a bit, though.

"I've got it," Ron said, trying to get her to talk. "You're in love."

Her head snapped up in shock, but she didn't seem to be able to speak for several moments. "I…suppose you could say that. I don't know if it's love, though. You do need two people for that. At the moment, I'd say it's more of an unrequited crush."

"You're in love with Longbottom, aren't you? You want me to put in a good word for you! No problem," he said, a wicked grin crossing his face as she stared back, half in confusion and half in pain. He didn't quite understand the pain, but he supposed it had to do with his teasing. It usually did.

"I—no," she replied, the strange expression apparent in her voice, as well. "What?"

"Alright then," he replied, worried now that he was down to just two choices. "Seamus or Dean?"

Though, he really didn't want to know. Living with both of them and neither of them having the protection of being his best friend made it far too easy to smother them with their own pillows.

Her head drooped pathetically, and she muttered something into her lap. He was sure it was a name, and he was even surer now that he just didn't want to know, so he waited a moment to collect the teasing in his throat that he would need for his voice.

"I'm sorry, what was that? I thought I heard a name, but you weren't speaking very clearly." And there it was. The moment that would send his world spinning wildly. He was about to know who she was in love with.

"It's you," she spoke more clearly this time, but he still couldn't quite believe it.

"I'm…sorry?" His mouth had gone dry, and his voice came out far more raspy than he had intended. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Don't ask me why, for heaven's sake," she whispered, wiping her hands across her face, as though trying to wash it clean of something he couldn't see. "Because I don't know. By all accounts, you ought to be one of my least favorite people." The comment stung, but it was the point of his constant torment of her, wasn't it? To protect himself by keeping her at a distance?

"I'm not even sure what happened. I just know that some time ago, I started seeing you differently than Harry. Differently than most of the boys, really. I wasn't—I wasn't sure—" Her voice was cracking now, and Ron could see a brim of tears forming on her lower lid. "I wasn't quite sure what I was feeling until that awful Lavender Brown started eyeing you a few months ago."

"Lavender Br—Hermione, what are you talking about?" Having never taken a serious look at another girl, beyond a juvenile crush on the curvy barmaid of the Three Broomsticks, and the necessary machismo comments to keep up his façade, it had never occurred to him that a girl would take the initiative to be interested in _him_.

"Oh, don't pretend for my sake, Ron," she muttered derisively, sniffing and wiping stray tears from her face. "She's all but crawled to you on hands and knees trying to get you to notice her. And you're only human, so I'm sure eventually it'll work out for her.

"I know you don't really like me very much, and I'm sure you mostly put up with me for Harry's sake, so I want you to know, I don't expect things to change at all. I'm sure you're looking at me like some silly love-sick schoolgirl, but I only wanted you to—" Sniff. "I only wanted you to know, so that—" Another sniff. Ron bent forward to pull his handkerchief from his back pocket, and offered it to her. "Thank you," she whispered.

"It's clean, I promise."

She smiled. "You're being very kind about this, you know. I hadn't expected such a—such a sensitive reaction." For some reason, this set off a wracking sob. "I only w-w-wanted you t-t-t-to know, so that—so that, if you mayb-be—" Sob. "If things ever changed between us—" She fell into tears, and Ron had no choice but to awkwardly pat her back, restraining the urge to hold her tight in case he was misunderstanding her intentions.

"I only wanted you to know, so that if it were ever to come up—well, my standing is out on the table." She seemed to have gained control of herself suddenly. "So if you ever feel like—like you might see me differently than the bookworm, well— Now you know. So, that's all I wanted to say, and, um, yes."

She stood and moved around him toward the door. Ron's mind was reeling, and he couldn't quite process how he should best react to her surprising confession, but he knew damn well that he couldn't let her walk out that door with such an incorrect assumption of her importance to him.

He didn't have much time to think about it, but in two long strides he had come close enough to her to grasp the hand not on the door and yank her back toward himself. He hadn't expected it to work quite so well, but something about the motion caused her to turn in his direction as she stumbled toward him in surprise, looking up at him. The moment seemed to slow, so that he had a few seconds to decide his course of action.

He went with the instinctual, knowing that if there was ever a moment for spontaneity, it was right then, when she had just had the courage to bare her heart to him, something he'd never had the nerve to do. Here, again, she was showing him what a coward he was. First the Yule Ball, and then now, when she had been the one to make her feelings so clear, as she had said, with no intention of something coming of it, and not trying to avoid looking like an idiot.

He was _such_ an _idiot_.

So, as Hermione came toward him with momentum of his own creation, he grabbed her small waist with both hands and lifted her up toward himself. He had enough time to see her surprised and confused expression, and to smile gleefully in response before she was close enough to close his eyes and kiss her. With the first contact, Hermione froze, then immediately pulled away, frowning.

"I didn't want a pity kiss," she muttered crossly. "And I can stand by myself, thank you very much."

But Ron was far too thrilled to allow her anger and misunderstanding to cloud his happiness. He was sure she'd never seen him look at her so adoringly, and supposed it must confuse her for him to change so completely and so suddenly. "I'm sure I do look quite pitiful to you," he replied in a real teasing voice, this time, "and to be honest, there are a lot of things going on inside of me right now, but I can assure you, madam, none of them are pity. Except maybe for myself, for not having your guts."

"I was serious, Ron," she said, wiggling until he gave up and let her put her feet back on the floor. "I don't expect anything to change. I wasn't crying just to get you to—"

"Shut up, Hermione," he muttered, leaning down to kiss her again. There was nothing he could say to make her understand that he wasn't do any of this just to make her feel better, so he opted to concentrate on making his kiss as convincing as possible, which he found to be quite easy.

It was difficult to hold her, because she was so much lower than he was, but after only a few moments of their heated kiss, he gently pulled her upward, asking permission this time to lift her, and she eagerly jumped up at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, holding onto him for dear life. He was surprised enough by her enthusiasm that he needed to take a step backward to keep his own balance, and she seemed to notice.

"Sorry, am I too heavy?" she asked, pulling away in concern.

"No, of course not," he muttered, not really paying attention to the words and more interested in getting her lips back to his own. This kiss was neither soft, nor innocent, and while his tongue explored her mouth with inexperienced awkwardness, she clung desperately to him, responding eagerly to each and every touch.

It was a bit difficult to find a safe place to put his hands, however, and without his support, she was clinging to him uncomfortably tightly, trying not to slip down his body. He groaned into her mouth, which still tasted like treacle from dinner, and pushed that mental image away as his body tightened in response. He tried holding onto her back, then by supporting her shoulders, but in the end, his hand had to slip down to her bottom to hold her comfortably. "Is—is this alright?" he asked nervously, terrified of scaring her off when he'd only just found her.

She only nodded in response, relaxing her grip on his neck and moving her hands instead to the sides of his face as she responded to him with vigor. Ron found it only took one hand on her backside to support her slight weight, and used his other to rub her back, hold her face closer to his, anything he could think of. In shifting his hand down her side at one point, he had to make a quick adjustment to keep her balanced around his hips, and one handed ended up brushing across the side of her chest. She didn't seem to mind, and so he repeated the motion in an equally accidental way, and when she didn't object a second time, moved his hand across her front with more obvious intent, earning a positively sinful moan from low in her throat, serving to arouse him more than any fantasy he'd ever come up with.

He needed to get control of himself, and Hermione grasping him so tightly and pressed so close against the length of his body was not helping in any way. He gently pulled away, manually untwining her legs from around his waist and setting her on the floor of the empty classroom. He stepped back from her, keeping the beautiful girl at arm's length and took a deep shaky breath. He went back to the pair of chairs and slumped down into one, dropping his head between his knees, and lacing his fingers across the back of his neck. He sat there for several seconds, trying to regain control of himself.

"I don't know much about these things," he began slowly, "but I think that was a bit intense for a first kiss."

Hermione let out an uncharacteristic giggle, and he looked up at her questioningly.

"I like how you called it a first kiss, as though there might be a second," she responded to his look.

"Well, if you're offering." He sat up, pulling her onto his lap and beginning in again. The downside to this new position was that, when his attentions once again moved to her breasts at her own urging, she was able to feel his reaction.

He knew the exact moment when she realized exactly what she was sitting on, and paused in his kisses while she sat stiffened in his lap. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's—" her voice was breathy, and didn't come out quite right. "It's fine. Only natural, right?"

"Right," he muttered. "Look, if you want to stop, we can, but with you, like this, I don't think I could, er, make it go away."

"Well," she responded brightly, with a very un-Hermione gleam in her eyes, "from what I know, there's more than one way to do that."

He stared at her in plain-faced shock, not quite sure if she'd meant her words to sound the way they had. He waited a moment for her to blush and correct herself, but when she sat staring at him expectedly, he asked her to clarify herself.

"Well, term's ending in a few weeks, and then we'll be apart all summer, and, well, I don't know if you'll change your mind or something. And I've never done anything like this before—"

"Neither have I," he interrupted.

"Well, I'd understand if you weren't that attracted to me, but if you'd be interested, I—I—"

"Of course I'm attracted to you, you stupid girl, but Hermione, this is a big deal," he responded slowly, though inside there was a twelve-year-old version of himself jumping around in glee at the prospect of things going farther than he'd ever expected.

"I want it to be you."

"Are you sure?"

"Are you?"

"You have no idea."

They hadn't returned to Gryffindor Tower until the morning.

~#~

Ron pulled himself out of his memory of that first night together in an empty classroom, and how much better it had been to have her in his own bed at the Burrow the following summer, all the more exciting because Harry slept on the other side of the room.

"What are you thinking about?" she whispered.

"That night in the empty classroom," he replied, just as quietly.

"There've been a lot of those," she teased. "Which one?"

"The first one."

"Ah." They lay in a comfortable silence, Ron playing with her hair idly, and Hermione playing with his hand as it moved beneath her own much smaller one. She pulled his palm out of her hair, lining her fingers up with his and then linking them together. She slowly stroked each finger, tracing little shapes on the palm of his hand, though she knew the tickling feeling it produced drove him mad.

Today, however, his reverie had left him in a mood where anything usually ticklish caused a much darker sensation inside him. He moaned breathily and became far more aware of every inch of his own body, squirming to find a more comfortable position on the rough bark, and, recognizing the sound and what it meant, Hermione kissed the tips of each finger lightly, then again with slightly more pressure, and then a third time with a flick of her tongue landing on the pad of each finger. She listened with amusement as Ron's breathing got shallower and kissed his index finger, letting the tip slip into her mouth.

She sucked casually on the end of his finger, but she knew that he was imagining her mouth elsewhere and took most of his finger into her mouth. Ron knew perfectly well that she was doing this just to be a tease, though he hoped fervently that she had plans to run upstairs shortly. While he pondered what might happen once they were in private, she wet his middle finger and was licking the ends of both fingers together, taking them into her mouth and flicking her tongue against the sensitive pads.

Ron was fully aroused now, and in no mood for more teasing. He hung his shoulders off the branch and kissed her hard, not hiding his desire for her. If they hadn't been out on the grounds, he'd have taken her right there against the tree, and that picture in his mind's eye had his lower body twisting as he struggled to keep his pants comfortable. Her hand dropped his, moving through his ginger hair, something he had been surprised to know she enjoyed.

He hated the color of his hair, but every time his Hermione caressed it, looked disappointed when his mother forced him to cut it, or pulled at it in need, as she was doing now, he was endlessly thankful to his parents for passing that to him, along with their blood traitor tendencies. To have been raised like Draco Malfoy, and to never have been able to appreciate Hermione's quiet ways and fierce love would have been to be only half alive.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered between kisses, running his knuckles across her cheekbone and earning the faint flush he'd been hoping for.

"Ron," she whimpered. "I want you."

It was one of his favorite things to hear, falling from her lips like liquid sin that she simply couldn't keep in for her need of him. He slipped from the branch gracelessly, landing behind her with a fairly painful _thud_, but still serving the purpose of letting her know that her need was reciprocated. "How quickly can you find an empty room?"

"I don't think I can wait that long," she moaned as he found a small bud beneath her robes. He heard her whispering incantations and the air around their tree began to shimmer. He recognized one of their favorite spells for hiding both their sounds and actions when she spent the night in his bed, but they had never attempted it in such a public place.

"How do you do that?" He trailed kisses up her neck, biting lightly on her earlobe. "I don't think I could light a wand right now."

"Practice." Her hand had inched behind her back, doing evil things to him through his tight trousers.

"You always were the brains of the operation." He ran the tip of his tongue up the curve of her ear, making her shudder.

"Ron. Shut up." He did. He was a bit concerned about getting caught, but he wasn't going to doubt Hermione's ability to cast a good ward against prying eyes.

She pushed him up against the thick trunk of the tree, turning around to straddle him. They both moaned loudly as their most intimate parts came into contact through their clothes, but it wasn't enough. Hermione pulled away from her lover for just a moment to tug her dark grey vest over her head and begin unbuttoning her white dress shirt. Ron pulled her back into the kiss by the back of her neck, finishing the job of her shirt. Hermione was a petite enough girl that she rarely needed to wear anything under her shirt, so her lovely, tiny breasts were instantly available to him. They barely filled his large hands, but the feel of her hardened buds brushing his palms was more magical than anything he'd ever learned in the castle.

She moved to get rid of his own shirt, but he stopped her hands, whispering, "Just in case."

"Don't you trust me?" She feigned resentment, placing her hands on her hips. With her shoulders pulling the shirt open and the red and gold Gryffindor tie hanging down the center of her chest, he moaned in lust and bucked beneath her, causing a similar sound to fall from her lips.

"Of course I do, I just—" But he was cut off when she ground her hips down into him.

"Don't want to risk it?" she whispered into his ear, flicking her tongue out to catch his earlobe in her mouth. She breathed lightly into his ear, and he struggled beneath her for more real contact. "Alright then, she whispered, standing up from him and stepping to one side. "Just in case." She lifted the front of her skirt so that he could see her painfully innocent white underwear, hooked her thumbs into the waistband and shimmied out from them, though her skirt dropped with her thumbs, so he wasn't able to see anything. He knew, however, that there was a small patch of well-groomed curly golden hair between her legs, just above her mound. When she stood up again, it was the most torturous sight he had ever seen.

Hermione stood above him in her mauled school uniform. It looked fine from the waist down, with her conservative black shoes, grey knee-high socks, and matching gray wool skirt, though he knew she was wearing nothing underneath. Above her waist though, her shirt fell open, though he couldn't see anything besides the thin strip of pale skin on either side of her bold necktie. The sight was horrendous, and he needed her, right then and there. He didn't even care if the wards held.

After letting him gaze up at her like his own personal goddess, Hermione settled down in front of him and opened the front of his pants. Just being pulled free was a relief, as tight as his pants had been, but Ron was in ecstasy in Hermione's well-practiced hand. Though they had both been virgins in every possible way that first night, they had quickly and eagerly learned how to please one another.

Hermione lowered her head to him, placing a kiss on his head and licking away the fluids collected there. She moaned as one does after eating a particularly delicious sweet, and Ron let his head fall back against the tree as she continued to offer her attention to his aching length. After a few minutes of light teasing, she took him into her mouth, earning a surprised yet thrilled holler from him. "You're amazing, Hermione," he muttered.

"This isn't even close to as amazing as I get." She rose up from between his legs and knelt across his thighs again.

"Me neither." She grinned and settled herself against him. This time, when they came into contact with one another, there was nothing in the way, and they both moaned loudly at the longed-for touch, falling into another passionate kiss. With his hand, Ron directed himself to her opening, thrilled at how ready she was for him.

She bit her lip expectantly, and lowered herself slowly onto his length, savoring every inch as he entered her. When their hips came into contact this time, he was fully sheathed inside of her tight warmth. They both emitted throaty sounds, and though anyone walking by would probably just see too teenagers making out, the sounds they made were singular to lovemaking. It was good that Hermione was able to produce a ward so well, Ron thought, because he certainly didn't have the concentration to keep it strong.

With the help of his strong hands on her hips, Hermione began to move up and down on his length, almost removing him entirely before accepting his full length into her yet again with each thrust. It didn't take long before she was panting harshly above him, moaning his own name into his ear. She began to lose focus on her movements, and Ron took over, moving her above him and bringing his hips up to meet her each time.

As he could tell she was getting close to her finish, he let one hand rest on her bottom while his other moved down between their bodies to help her along. She gasped, pushing herself forward against his hand. His teeth were gritted, and he almost looked in pain, but Hermione could tell that he was trying to hold himself back, waiting to finish with her. It was the most perfect moment of lovemaking they had yet discovered, to be completely wrapped in one another at that final moment of ecstasy.

"Yes," she said harshly, "Oh gods, yes, I'm so close."

He loved to hear that from her. Nothing made him feel quite as good as to know that he brought her such pleasure.

"Oh, Hermione!" he yelled. She fell back into the kiss with renewed passion, riding him harder the closer she got, doing her best to help him as well. When he finally brought her, she let him know that it was happening, but it was wholly unnecessary. He couldn't have mistaken her finish for anything else as she threw back her head, calling his name a final time while she clenched wildly around him, and immersed so utterly in her orgasm, she took him with her. His face scrunched together as he gave one final thrust inside of her.

"Hermione," he bellowed his end. "Yes, Hermione!"

She fell forward at the end of her climax, shaking violently with the force of it. "Oh, Ron, I love you," she whispered, clinging to him.

Still spasming inside of her, he whispered, "Sweet Merlin, I love you, Hermione." He knew that she enjoyed her name on his lips as much as he did his own upon hers, and continued to say it until they had dozed off contentedly under the tree. "Oh Hermione, Hermione, Hermione…"

~**#**~

"I mean, right?"

"Yes," Hermione agreed, looking at Ron over her own breakfast with a rather bleak expression. "Totally boggled."

~**#**~

**A/N:** I don't normally condone a R/Hr pairing, but it just seemed so obvious when I watched the movie, and I finally sat down in a coffee shop today and wrote it out for a few hours.

If you enjoy this, please check out my other fic, One Kiss From You, a H/Hr. If you already are a reader of OKFY, look forward to fluffy lemons like this in future chapters!

Rock on, keep reading, and as always, review!

cj596


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